


Two Can Keep a Secret (If One of Them Is Dead)

by stardustgirl



Series: Full-length Fics [16]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: (All Kinds of Angst!), (of a dragon), (well 5 if we want to be honest), Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anakin has a child protection law named after him, Angst, Blood Magic, Buddy Cops, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dragons, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, First Dates, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, Magical Realism, Medium Angst, Past Torture, Phoenix Nest Discord, Phone Calls & Telephones, Prophecy, Psychological Torture, Shadow magic, Sirens, The baby dragon comes in chapter 4, Torture, Unicorns, not beta read we die like men, tiny baby dragons, you can thank obi-wan for that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:04:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: Kanan Jarrus has been street fighting since he was fourteen and has no desire to change that, especially now that he has a teammate in the mortal Zeb Orrelios.  But when a woman named Hera comes crashing into his life, followed in quick succession by a bounty hunter incapable of magic and an ill-fated changeling trying to defy prophecy, and proposes a heist of epic proportions, who is he to say no?(Modern Magic AU)





	1. crashing

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Secret” by The Pierces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Car Accident (no injury)

Kanan sidesteps the punch before throwing his own, knocking his opponent out cold.  The mortal topples to the ground, head hitting cement with a noise that would nauseate most people.

Fortunately, Kanan Jarrus isn’t  _ like _ most people.

He’s done this before, a million times, and so he walks to the emcee with the practiced ease of one who  _ has _ done this a million times, rather than the swagger of someone enjoying their one night of fame.  He takes the stack of cash the man shoves at him nervously, not bothering to flip through it as he walks away into the night.

He catches Zeb on his way out, raising a hand.  The mortal glances his direction before Kanan can even call his name, and once again he wonders if he doesn’t have fae blood  _ somewhere _ in his veins.

Zeb pushes his way through the crowd to reach Kanan and falls in step with him.  “Couldn’t see all the fight. How’d it go?”

“Good.  Felt a bit easy.”  Kanan shrugs before sensing something behind him.  Whirling, he grabs the baseball bat near the middle with blinding speed as his assailant gapes.  Zeb turns more slowly, raising an eyebrow when he sees the mortal threatening Kanan.

Well.  “Threatening” is a generous term.

One side of his mouth lifts in what’s almost a smirk, and normally would be, if it weren’t for the sternness in his eyes.

“You got a problem,” he begins, shoving the baseball bat and the man wielding it backward with it before releasing his hold on it to punctuate his words, “buddy?”

“I– that– that wasn’t a fair fight!” the man stammers.  Kanan rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah?  And why not?”

“Because– because this is a human- _ only _ ring, and you’re not– not human.”

“You wanna bet?”  Kanan takes a step closer, lowering his voice to an acidic hiss.  “Listen up,  _ buddy, _ I know Maul.”  “Know” is  _ another _ generous term, but he  _ does _ know the name, so the lie is allowed.  “So unless you wanna get on his bad side, I’d stop messing with street fighters who seem a bit more like fae than your friends.”

The man nods quickly, now cowering in the face of Kanan’s wrath.  His glamour doesn’t hurt matters either.

Without another word, he turns, Zeb following as they exit the alley.

* * *

“You shouldn’ ‘ave told ‘im that, Kanan.”

He rolls his eyes, taking another swig of his drink.  “Doesn’t hurt anyone to add to my reputation a bit.”

“Could ‘urt  _ you _ if you aren’t careful.  I’m serious.” He shrugs, taking another drink before setting the cup back on the table slightly harder than he’d intended.

“How?  They’re just cowards, hanging in their parents’ basements and stalking dating sites until nightfall hits and there’s someone else ready to fall for the crowd.”  Zeb watches with narrowed eyes as Kanan brings the cup up again, downing the rest of it in a single gulp. He’s getting drunk faster than he’d like, but it’s fine.  There’ll always be another night to fight, and another night to stay sober. Today isn’t that night.

“Plus they pay well.  Better than the ones up by Costco.”

“Yeah, well I think you should at least stop tellin’ ‘em you’re with Maul.  From what I’ve—“

“What, you’re actually  _ worried _ about him?”  Kanan barks a laugh.  “Guy never even leaves his  _ house, _ from what I’ve heard.”

Zeb shrugs.  “Eh, I dunno.  Just heard some things about ‘im that make me think it’s better to stay away from ‘im completely.”

“Then it's a good thing we’re not on his side of town.”  Kanan goes to take another drink before frowning at the lack of alcohol left.  Shrugging, he returns the glass to the table. That’s his sign he’s drunk enough for one night.  “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Zeb grunts, rising from the table.  Kanan slaps a ten down on the polished woodgrain, knowing they’ll just add the drinks to his tab and bother him about it next time.  And that’ll be a problem  _ for _ the next time.

He and Zeb head back to the apartment, and once again Kanan thanks whatever faerie gods are still around—if any—that they managed to find one within three blocks of one of the more decent all species-friendly bars in town.

They walk in silence, Kanan content to let the darkness fill it.  He can sense other fae, not here, but elsewhere in the city. Mostly in the direction of the Complex.  In a little under ten minutes, they’ve reached the corner opposite Phantom Heights. Kanan crosses without blinking; the street’s never busy at this time of night.

He hears the screeching of wheels too late, sees the headlights only after he’s being thrown several yards back and landing on his side.  The pain only comes afterward.

Groaning, he sits up, the ringing in his ears only subsiding when he stands.  He blinks, shielding his eyes from the headlights of the car ahead of him. Zeb’s silhouette is easy enough to recognize, half-obscured by the darkness as it is.  Another person gets out of the car on the opposite side of Zeb, door slamming shut as they walk around in front of the headlights. They exchange words with Zeb briefly and Kanan starts trying to walk over, wincing as a pain lances through his lower leg.  The two figures turn and approach, Zeb’s arm immediately going around Kanan’s shoulder to support him as they walk to the idling car. The other figure steps into view, still slightly silhouetted by the headlights.

“You can call me Hera.  I didn’t mean—“

“Call me Kanan.  And it’s fine.” Her voice is gorgeous, he thinks to himself with a faint grin he doesn’t mind if she sees.

“I have insurance, I can see—“

“It’s  _ fine. _  I’ve taken a hit or two before.  I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.  Here, tell you what, I’ll give you my number in case something happens.  Sound good?”

Hera nods, and he finds himself mildly disappointed he can’t tell any details apart from the darkness with her backlit like that.  “I’ll give you mine too, here. And my insurance.” She goes to the purse at her side, digging through it momentarily before she finds one of the pads of papers he doesn’t really see outside hotels and a cheap pen.  She slaps both onto the hood and Kanan approaches, glad it’s at least semi-visible in the light. She writes two numbers and a name and tears the piece off, handing it to him. He does the same with his and slides the paper and pen back to her.

“If you need anything, call me,” he smirks, winking.  Hera snorts quietly but nods all the same, putting the pad of paper and pen back in her purse before crossing to the driver’s side again.

“Again, I didn’t mean to hit you,” she says a final time.

“It happens.”  Kanan waves a hand in dismissal, and he thinks he catches a faint smile as she gets in and shuts the door.

“Have a good night,” she calls through the window.  Kanan’s about to return the pleasantry when a dog barks, the sound deep enough it makes him jolt.  He hears Hera call out a muffled, “Chopper!” and catches a glimpse of a massive black dog in the passenger seat.

Zeb pushes him away from the car with a hand on his chest so Hera can leave, and Kanan finds himself wondering.

The short rest of the way to the apartment is spent in further silence, but when they reach their room and unlock it, Kanan finds the events of the night catching up with him.

“Did you  _ see _ her, Zeb?  She’s got eyes like the  _ stars. _ ”

“You couldn’ even  _ see _ ‘er face,” Zeb mutters.

“But she’s got the  _ prettiest _ voice.”

His friend stares at Kanan for a long moment before announcing decisively, “You’re drunk.”

“Kriffin’ right you are, but it got me a date!”

“She gave you ‘er phone number and the insurance company’s number.  I don’t think there was a date  _ involved. _ ”

Kanan moves toward his room, the image of Hera’s maybe-smile still stuck in his head.  “Might as well be.”

“You got ‘it by a kriffin’  _ car, _ Kanan,  _ karabast. _  Do you ‘ave  _ any _ sense o’ self-preservation instincts?”

Kanan opens the door to his room.  “None. Whatsoever.” He closes it.


	2. debts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child Abuse, Implied Torture

“Step right up, c’mon; you can play for  _ free! _  But we do accept bets too!”  Kanan shoots a glance at the kid on the street corner, waving his arms dramatically and gesturing to the deck of cards on his table.  “Just five minutes and  _ you _ could be a winner!  Even  _ you, _ sir!”  He raises an eyebrow as the kid points to him.  Smiling, he approaches, willing to humor him.

“Pick a card.”  The kid holds up three cards, face out.  Kanan taps the three of hearts. “Alright, here, all you gotta do is tell me which card’s the one you picked, okay?”  Kanan nods, brow raised as the kid flashes a smirk before beginning to mix the cards. He tracks it easily enough; the kid’s using a pretty weak glamour on it.  Subconsciously doing it, too, if he had to guess.

The kid stops about thirty seconds later and spreads his hands.  “Well?” Kanan points to the card on the far right before folding his arms again.  The kid’s façade slips for half a moment before he flips it, revealing Kanan’s card.  “Your lucky day, I guess. Wanna go again? I’m always taking bets, and the highest today’s been—“

Kanan leans forward abruptly.  “You’re playing it wrong, kid.  _ You’re _ supposed to pick the card, the queen, and you’re not supposed to use glamour the first round.”

The kid stiffens.  “What? I know how to play my own game, thanks.”

“When you’re using glamour, it’s not  _ your _ game anymore.”

He shoots a glance up at Kanan.  “Thanks for the input. You can either place a bet or move on, because I’m losing business every second you’re standing here,” he snaps.

“Kid, look, I’m  _ trying _ to help you!”  The kid glares.

“I’ll give you till the count of three to leave me alone.”

Sighing, Kanan straightens, putting his hands up placatingly, and backs away.  “I’m out, I’m out.” He turns and walks away, but slows when he’s only a few hundred yards thanks to the nudge in his mind.  Turning halfway, he catches a man dragging the boy with him by the collar. He frowns.

And turns back around, continuing on his way to meet Zeb for lunch.

* * *

Saxon slams him against a wall and he yelps, sparks crossing his vision.  “He gave you  _ two days _ to pay him back for the food,” a cold, feminine voice says in a low tone.  He shoots a glare at Kast over Saxon’s shoulder.

“Then kriff off so I  _ can, _ ” he growls, pushing against Saxon’s arm.  The man’s grip simply tightens as Kast stalks closer, raising an eyebrow.

“Running card games on the street won’t get you what you owe him in a day.”

He pushes against the man again, blowing hair out of his eyes.  “You beating me up won’t help either.”

Saxon backhands him harshly and he bites back a whimper.  “Shut your kriffin’ mouth, Bridger,” the man warns. “Or you’ll have more things to worry about than just a beating.”

“Iron’s against the Code.”  Ezra flinches back as Saxon raises another hand before lowering it, chuckling.

“You forfeited the Code’s protection when you used iron agains—“

“It was an accident!  I—“

Another slap.  “Sure, kid.”

“You haven’t even told me what you  _ want _ from me!”  He tries a new tactic, going limp in Saxon’s grip and trying to slip out underneath it.  The man merely grabs the front of his hoodie and pulls him up, slamming him against the brick again.

“Maul wants his money.  So we’re getting it. Either you can pay up right this instant, or we’ll take you to him.”  Kast is matter-of-fact, as always, and it just makes Ezra flinch more as his glamour reflexively tries to fight against his iron collar.

“I think we all know that I don’t  _ have _ the money, so why don’t you just spare me the trouble and drag me to him already?!”

“After what happened the last time, he wanted you roughed up a bit first.”  Saxon throws him to the ground, kicking him in the side. Kast approaches, pulling out an iron rod with a leather grip.  Ezra flinches and tries to move away, making it to the wall before the iron end hits the back of his ungloved hand. He yelps, jerking away from the burning sensation as his breath catches.

“I’ll– I’ll go with you, please just– just stop it with the iron.  Ple—“

His plea is cut off with another cry of pain as the iron makes contact again.

* * *

Kast throws him to his knees on the warehouse floor and Ezra bites back a whimper, eyes shuttering closed for less than a second at the pain.  However, it’s not his knees that hurt the most, it’s his neck and throat as his collar shifts above his shirt and makes contact with his skin. He resists the urge to push it back down, only straightening enough that at least it isn’t fully in contact.

“Why isn’t he out on the streets?”

At Maul’s voice, he drops his head and makes his bow more deliberate, biting his lip in an attempt to distract himself from the pain the iron causes.  Saxon is the one who replies.

“He was stealing from a mortal.”  That was yesterday, not today, so it’s close enough for the lie to be said.  That still doesn't mean it’s any more true.

“Oh?”  Maul rises from his chair, stepping down the crates stacked beneath and in front of it until he reaches Ezra.  The older faerie walks around the boy and Ezra flinches, eyes dropping to the floor. “And did they catch him?”

“No.  But we figured it’d still be best to bring him back before he did any more damage.”  Kast clears her throat before continuing. “I’m sure you would want to remind him of the thin ice he’s already treading on before it’s too late and he has a thieves’ mark.”

“You are heard, Rook.  Now get out. And take Saxon with you.”  Maul’s voice is barely more than a growl, and Kast is smart enough to take the other half-faerie with her as she leaves.  As soon as the door shuts, Maul sighs and rubs his temples, and Ezra can tell he drops his glamour though the boy can already see through it.  “Please tell me you  _ didn’t _ rob a mortal.”

“Not today, Master,” he says in a small voice.  

“This week then?”  He nods. “When?”

“Yesterday, sir.”

Maul sighs again, and he flinches at the sound.  “At least you didn’t get caught. I don’t want my star performer stuck with a  _ thieves’ mark. _ ”  Ezra nods again, gaze still fixated on a small bump in the cement.  “Now let me see your collar.”

Obediently, Ezra tips his head back and pulls at his hoodie to expose the chain of iron around his throat.  Maul bends slightly, pulling his shirt collar down enough that the iron touches his bare skin. He gasps, managing to bite his tongue in time to suppress another cry.  He can’t feel anything but the blinding pain until Maul moves away, allowing him to fumble with his shirt collar with his gloved hand and shove the fabric up under most of the metal.

“Looks you’re outgrowing it.  I’ll have to get you a new one this year.”  He nods silently, still blinking away tears at the pain.  He raises a hand and tugs his hoodie back up to cover the metal, gaze dropping again.  “Now. Did you get the money to pay me back?”

Shaking his head slowly, Ezra bites his lip.  “N– no, Master. I– I meant to, I already have half of it—“

Maul’s hand snakes out, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him to his feet.  Ezra yelps as the collar shifts and brushes his skin, leaving burns in its wake.

“I don’t need  _ half _ of it, I need  _ all _ of it,  _ changeling, _ ” Maul hisses.  “I gave you  _ two full days _ to get  _ everything _ you needed, and what do you bring me?   _ Half of it. _ ”  Ezra nods, tears brimming as the iron chainlinks continue to slide back and forth on his throat again.  “Do I need to put the hobbles back on next time you’re running a con?”

“No– no, Master, you do– don’t.”  Maul holds him aloft a moment longer before finally dropping him.  Ezra trembles, reaching to pull his shirt under the chain again.

“Now.  Where  _ is _ said money?”  The faerie’s acting completely normal, as if he didn’t just make Ezra genuinely fear for his life only seconds ago.  Swallowing, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a wadded ten. Maul takes the bill, glancing at it briefly before shoving it into his own pocket.

“Remember who you owe, and get out,” Maul orders.  “I want you back before four with the rest of the money.”  Nodding, Ezra staggers to his feet, stumbling out of the warehouse without a glance back.


	3. dates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about 4-5 days after the last one.
> 
> TW: Torture, Child Abuse, Implied Child Abuse, Burns, Mugging, Head Trauma, Kidnapping

Kanan stares at the paper, blinking at the numbers and name below them.   _Hera._  He’s taking her up on her offer to call if he needs anything—in this case, a date.  With her.

He just has to figure out which number is hers, and which is her insurance.

Sighing, he massages his temples, and picks up his phone.  He dials the first number and sets it on the table, pressing the speaker button.  As soon as the dialing sound stops, he starts speaking.

“Hey, uh, I dunno if you remember but you kinda hit me with your car, and oh yeah it’s Kanan—“

“ _—View Insurance, where your life and legacy are in our—_ “

He hits the end call button and buries his face in his hands, exhaling deeply.   _And_ this _is why you don’t ask out girls who almost ran you over!_

After sufficient time to rethink his strategy—about ten minutes—Kanan dials the second number, keeping it on speaker in the empty apartment.  This time, he waits until a feminine voice—the same as the one from that night—says, “ _This is Hera.  Who is this?_ ”

Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair.  “Hey, uh, this is Kanan. You know, uh, the guy from the other night, with the car and then you gave me your number and your insurance number but I really hope this is your number—“

She cuts him off with a laugh and he falls silent, biting his lip.  “ _Kanan, yeah, okay.  I remember you, and don’t worry, this isn’t my insurance._ ”  He nods, face reddening as he runs a hand through his hair again.

“Yeah, of– of course it isn’t, or you wouldn’t be talking, it’d be some automated…never mind.”  He hears Hera’s quiet laugh.

“ _No, you’re good, you’re good.  Is there a reason you called?_ ”

“Yeah, uh, actually—“

“Kanan, who’re you talkin’ to?”

He jumps at the voice, hand bumping his phone and knocking it to the ground.  “Zeb, what the _kriff?!_ ”  He curses, picking it up and fumbling for a moment.  “Didn’t mean for you to hear all that, Hera, uh, Zeb came in and I didn’t hear him and I, ah, dropped my phone.”

“ _It’s okay._ ”

A beat, and then he asks the question.  “Uh...wouldyouwanttogoandgetdinnertogethersometime?”

There’s silence, and Zeb walks over, staring intently at Kanan’s phone as he waits for an answer.  Kanan shoots a glare up at him, but his roommate doesn’t seem to notice.

“ _Um...I don’t think I heard you.  Could you repeat that please?_ ”

He exhales silently and repeats himself, slower and actually coherent this time.  “Would you ever want to go and get dinner with me sometime?”

The silence this time is longer and Kanan finds himself holding his breath.  Even _Zeb_ seems nervous.

“ _Sure._ ”

Kanan mouths an excited “ _Yes!_ ” and briefly mutes his end of the call as he high-fives Zeb.

“Wait, I think she’s still talkin’.”  Kanan turns back to the call eagerly, turning it off mute.

“ _Does tonight work?  At eight?_ ”

“Sure, yeah, sure.  Where– where sounds good?”

“ _Mm, I don’t know.  I’m new to town, actually._ ”  She laughs quietly.

“Uh yeah, let me think.”  He glances at Zeb, gesturing wildly to the phone.  Zeb shrugs and mouths a suggestion, but he can’t make it out.  Zeb repeats himself, but that still doesn’t help matters much. Suddenly he snaps his fingers, grabbing the phone.  “You tried Old Jho’s yet?”

“ _No, not yet.  Is it good?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s really good.  Jho’s a nice guy, too, I think you’ll like him.  The full name is, uh, Old Jho’s Pit Stop.”

“ _Thanks, I’ll plug it into Maps.  Which street did you say it was off of…?_ ”

“Corner of Illinois and Wyrmwood.  Ironically, it’s...the same street you hit me on.”  He gives an awkward laugh. “Oh, also, it’s an all-species one, too, if that’s good with you.”

“ _Yeah, Kanan, of course that’s fine._ ”

“Okay, good, I just know some people aren’t okay with that, so….”

“ _It’s nice of you to check._ ”  Zeb thumps him on the back at that hard enough that he nearly drops his phone.  He shoots the older man a glare, to which Zeb responds with a smirk.

“He normally doesn’t do reservations, but I can call and ask.”

“ _That would be great, Kanan.  I would really appreciate that._ ”

“Eight?”

“ _Eight._ ”

“Alright, sounds good.  I’ll see you then.”

“ _Bye._ ”  The call ends, hung up on Hera’s end, and Kanan leans back in his chair and runs a hand over his face.

“You did it, mate,” Zeb says, thumping him on the back again.  Kanan nods, the breath knocked out of him for a moment. “Congrats.”

“Yeah.  I just...what if she doesn’t like me, or something?”

“Eh, you’ll be good.  You’ve dealt with rejection before.  Not _well,_ but.”  Zeb snorts as Kanan shoots him another dirty glance.

“Alright, I’m gonna go call Jho.  You doing anything tonight?”

“Was probably gonna watch that documentary series you hate, dunno yet though.”  Kanan pulls a face.

“The one where they show you how they make stuff?  There’s too much iron in that, watching people touch it all is just _weird._ ”

“Well it’s not like they’re faerie.  You know they wouldn’t if they were.”

“Still….It’s _weird._ ”

Zeb shrugs.  “You’ve got your date, I’ve got my show.  We can compare notes whenever you get back.”

Kanan smirks, rolling his eyes and standing as he elbows his friend good-naturedly.  “Sure thing, big guy. You’re _on._ ”

* * *

Sabine pushes her in the small of her back with a gun, hard.  “Keep moving,” she growls. Ketsu shoots a glare over her shoulder that she conveniently ignores.

As she approaches the faerie crime lord at the far end of the warehouse, she quickly takes in the rest of the large, open room.  Fae abound, both glamoured and unglamoured; it’s not hard to miss the cloud of pixies hovering in the corner and the fire drake—an iron collar around its neck is chained to the back of the hearth too, she notices—napping on the ashes.  There’s a small group of men and women off to the side, all so impossibly beautiful she knows to fear them the same as she should fear any of the unglamoured faeries. As she gets closer to the fae at the end, still sitting stoically as he watches her with an unreadable gaze, a movement catches her eye.  She shoots a quick glance to the side to catch a faerie with glamour too weak to fully cover a bruise along the side of his jaw and bright blue eyes with oval pupils like a cat’s. When he catches her looking, he returns his attention to the stack of cards in one hand and coin in the other, rolling the coin easily over his knuckles as he absently shuffles the cards.  To all other appearances, he’d be just a boy, another human street kid, albeit with weird eyes, trying to con someone.

But this is Maul’s realm, here.  No one is as they seem.

She reaches the stack of crates that make up the dais the man has built for himself and stops, shoving Ketsu to her knees and falling to one herself.

“A mortal, here?  Explain yourself,” Maul says in a cool tone.  Despite his words, he doesn’t seem to be challenging her, more testing her mettle than anything to see if she’ll back down.

She takes a deep breath in before beginning.  “You may call me Sabine. I am told you are an esteemed member of the local Gentry looking for bounty hunters.  Is this accurate information?”

Maul nods slowly, studying her.  “It is.”

“I came because I _am_ one.”

“And your...prisoner?”

“We worked for the faerie lord of Lothal, sir.  When I saw your offer, I brought it up to her; at the time we were friends.  She, however, decided that that would be the apt time to try and get a promotion _from_ him.  I was able to stop and contain her first.  I brought her as a sign of my willingness to work for you.”

Maul nods again, appearing impressed.  “Very _good._  This is an _excellent_ demonstration of your work, Sabine.”  He steps off of the makeshift dais and circles them, pausing briefly to glance at the iron cuffs Ketsu is bound with—harmless with her lack of fae blood, though able to neutralize her magic.

Sabine nods.  “I appreciate the compliment, my lord.”

“Very well then.  If you would like to discuss the...opportunity further, come with me.  Ezra, get the paperwork. Thatcher, West, take the prisoner to one of the cells.”

She follows Maul out of the main room as two of the faeries from the group off to the side take Ketsu.  The boy with the cat’s eyes hops off of his stool and exits through a door so small she nearly misses it.  Maul leads her through a series of halls so convoluted she’s not sure _where_ they go, though she _is_ sure the building is magicked.  He’s silent the whole way until they reach a metal—though not iron or steel; she’s not sure exactly _what_ metal it is—door.  He enters a keycode into a pad next to the door and waits until it flashes green before opening it and gesturing for her to enter.

She sits at the chair closest to the door as he shuts it, sitting in the one behind the desk.  He clasps his hands together.

“So, Sabine.  I’ve employed bounty hunters in the past, though none were as young as you appear to be.  Do you have experience with non-mortal targets?”

She nods.  “Yes, sir. My record’s on all the main sites, I can send it to you if you’d like to see a more detailed version.  About half of my targets have been faerie, sir. Most of the others were magic users, like my former friend out there, and the remainder were unable to use magic but still proved a challenge.”

“Ah.  Any references unassociated with your former employer?”

She blinks.  “Not off the top of my head, sir, aside from my former friend.  But I can find some.”

He nods, raising a hand.  “That will be unnecessary.  I shall test your...friend tomorrow to see how much of your abilities were used against her.  Now, can you yourself do magic?”

“No.  But I’ve studied the theory, sir, and most of my connections believe I can.  You can ask them.”

“And are you willing to use iron against fae?”

“Yes,” Sabine says without hesitation.  The corners of Maul’s lips curl into a smile.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Enter,” Maul calls, looking up to see the boy with the cat’s eyes enter with a stack of papers, setting them on the man’s desk before stepping back silently.  A quick glance down at the source of the slight rattling noise she heard when he entered reveals a pair of iron hobbles cuffed just over the bottom of his pant legs.

“Sabine, do you have any iron on you?”

Nodding, she pulls a stun baton in an iron casing from her belt.  “The iron protects the circuits and functions as an additional weapon, sir,” she explains at Maul’s raised eyebrow.  He nods.

“Ezra, roll up your left sleeve.”  Shaking, the boy with the cat’s eyes obliges, pushing back the fabric of his hoodie.  “I would like you to touch him with the iron until you view him as incapacitated. No electricity.”

She swallows, hesitating as she stares at the teen in front of her.  He’s already squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation, though he doesn’t seem to be objecting.  And she needs this job, desperately. She can’t go back to Lothal, not after how she left.

Inhaling deeply, she raises the stun baton, and touches it to the boy’s arm.

Within moments he’s screaming.  Biting his lip no longer works to distract himself from the pain, apparently, and she tries not to focus on the pleading look in his gaze as he crumples to the floor and she follows.  When he’s crying, full-on _sobbing,_ in fact, she stops, rising and watching as he curls into a ball, apparently heedless of the iron on his cuffs rubbing against the bare skin of his ankles.

Maul waits until he’s mostly stopped crying before clearing his throat.  “Ezra, you may go.” The boy sits up, sniffing, and scrubs at his face with his right arm as he limps out of the room in near-silence.

“I appreciated that demonstration, Sabine.  I believe you will be a good fit for us. Now, simply sign these, and we will welcome you into Crimson Dawn.”

* * *

Walking down the street, Kanan frowns up at a flickering street lamp.  He pauses, glancing at a light across the street. As soon as his eyes land on it, it starts flickering, too.

They all go out without warning.

He startles, glancing around in the dark rapidly and adjusting his grip on the flowers.  The whole situation stinks of magic, but there’s no one there that he can sense. Swallowing, he pulls out his phone and flicks on its flashlight before turning it to full strength.  The power grid just went out, most likely. And he knows his way around this city. He’s still a ways from Old Jho’s; the nearest florist he could find is on the opposite side of town.  But he has plenty of time to make it to the apartment and change before heading to the restaurant in time to meet Hera.

He starts walking again, subconsciously flexing his fingers on the plastic protecting the flowers every few seconds.  There’s no other noise, nothing to make him think anything is amiss.

If that’s true, then why does he feel so _wrong?_

Something hits him on the back of his head and he cries out, cursing at the sensation of both being burned— _iron!—_ and the headache that immediately starts.  He turns, having dropped both his phone and the flowers in the shock and preparation for the fight.  His assailant is already attacking again, however, swinging the crowbar at his head a second time and making contact before he can do a thing.  He crumples, vision going dark.

As Kanan’s assailant picks his body up and shoulders it, pocketing his phone before leaving, the flowers lie, crushed and abandoned on the sidewalk in the waning twilight.

* * *

It’s 8:30, and her date is still not here.

Hera sighs impatiently, checking the time again before opening her text thread with Chopper.

-Where is he?!  He was supposed to be here half an hour ago!!  And he hasn’t even texted if he’s late or anything, or answered any of my other texts

>>Do you want me to track his phone?

-No

-I’ll just give him another 15 min and then leave

-You up for a movie if he doesn’t show?

>>Depends

-On what?

>>What it is

Smiling at the fact that at least the phooka doesn’t seem keen on letting her down, Hera clicks her phone off at the sound of someone else entering the restaurant.

Still not Kanan, or at least it doesn’t look like the glimpse she got of him the night of the accident.  The man also sits directly down at a table without asking where she is, and he already called her back earlier today and told her where their reservation was for.

Sighing, she starts a mental countdown until 8:45.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is literally 2.5k+ words and the angst was bad I’m sorryyy—


	4. light & wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Referenced Kidnapping, Burning, Restraints

Hera shoots a glance at her phone and sighs, answering the unfamiliar caller.  “This is Hera. Who is this?”

“ _Hey Hera, it’s Zeb, from the other night, you know, Kanan’s friend—_ “

“Look, I’m going to be straight with you—the only reason I haven’t hung up yet is because you’re not Kanan.  You have ten seconds to explain why you’re calling.”

She hears a whoosh of air from the other end of the phone.  “ _So ‘e’s not with you?_ ”

She snorts, and Chopper’s ear twitches from beside her as well.  She absently reaches a hand out to stroke the phooka’s head before responding.  “No, of course not. He stood me up!”

“ _Wait, what?!  ‘e left our apartmen’ in time t’ meet you._ ”

“Well he didn’t.  Didn’t show, didn’t text, didn’t call.  I called him, left a voicemail, texted him— _nothing._ ”

“ _I mean...I wouldn’t ‘ave been surprised if ‘e showed up this morning ‘stead of comin’ ‘ome last night...but for ‘im not t’ show at all...that’s new._ ”

She chooses to ignore Zeb’s first comment, focusing on the second instead.  “Did you call his boss?”

“ _Yeah, ‘e ‘asn’t seen ‘im either.  And it’s not like ‘im not to call or text back, ‘era.  You sure you didn’t see ‘im at all?_ ”

She sighs impatiently.  “I’m _sure,_ Zeb.  Look, you want me to contact someone, get him on a list or something?”

“ _Uh, sure, yeah.  I’ll keep callin’ people.  And uh, I really appreciate it ‘era.  Wish ‘e could’ve gone to dinner with you yesterday, in all ‘onesty I don’t think ‘e would’ve missed it out o’ ‘is own volition.  ‘e seemed really excited for it._ ”

“Well I’ll put the police in contact with you once I get ahold of them, alright?  And keep me updated.”

He agrees, and she hangs up, setting her phone down and sighing again as the line goes dead.  She glances at Chopper. The phooka’s tail twitches as it does the cat equivalent of raising an eyebrow.

“Well?  Are you going to call them?”

“I guess so,” she admits.  “I mean...maybe something really _did_ happen, and he couldn’t come to dinner because of that, and he couldn’t contact me or Zeb or anything...I just don’t _know,_ Chopper.”  He shrugs as best as a shifter in a cat’s form can.

“What harm is there in letting the police know, at the least?  It’ll help Zeb feel better, and _he_ at least seems decent.”  She chuckles, rubbing his head and eliciting a purr before picking her phone up and dialing 911 and the fae extension.  “Besides, then I can still scratch his eyes out when they find him.”

Hera smiles, but she’s already hit the call button, and puts the phone up to her ear.

“Hi, I’d like to report a missing faerie….”

* * *

Kanan wakes to blinding light.

He jolts before stiffening, blinking reflexively as he cranes his neck back to look up at the light.  It’s a sterile, plain thing, somewhat industrial-looking. It reminds him too much of the kind he’s seen at the rare all-species hospitals Zeb’s taken him to the few times he’s taken too hard of a hit in a fight—after winning, of course.  Cursing at its brightness, he glances down at his restraints.

He rubs his wrists against each other behind the metal—thankfully not iron—folding chair, frowning in concentration as he tries to figure out what’s tying them together.  It _feels_ like zipties, but maybe—

He gives an abrupt cry of pain as his ankle rubs against something _burning._  He pulls it away as much as he can, gasping as it makes contact with his skin once more.

_Iron._

When he finally gets his ankle away from the metal, he glances down, breathing heavy.  His ankles are ziptied to the front feet of the chair, a thin chain of iron connecting the zipties.  The chain is long enough it stays on the floor for the most part, though when he tries to move his foot it nearly touches the bare skin on his ankle again.  He swallows.

Kanan begins to take stock of his injuries.  His head. Great. A throbbing headache is _just_ what he needs right now.

The ache in his shoulders makes him pause.

When he recognizes just what, exactly, is folded behind him that sends shooting pains through his shoulder blades, he wants to scream.

The worst part is that he can _see_ his wings, in all their tattered, moth-like,  ephemeral glory. The pulse that runs through him, both the same as and separate from the one running through his veins, throbs with a painful rhythm he’d do anything to assuage at the moment.  But the only thing to relieve them of the pressure would be to remove the iron in the room, and he can’t do that right now.

If his wings are showing themselves again...how long has _he_ been out, then?  They never do that unless he’s been in the same vicinity as a decent amount of iron and unconscious at the same time.  And they still aren’t fully solid yet, either.

The door opens and he jumps, squinting against the light to see a teenage boy enter and kick the door shut behind him.  He raises his head to meet Kanan’s eyes, immediately looking down and raising a hand to shield his eyes. His other hand remains tight on the mug that Kanan only now notices.

“Can you– can you glamour yourself or– or something?  Your eyes, they—“

“I know, but I can’t, kid.  Not unless you can get the iron outta here.”

“I can’t.”  The boy shakes his head, moving closer and keeping his eyes shielded.  He stops a foot away, extending the arm with the mug. “I’m not allowed.”

“I can’t reach that.  My arms are tied.”

The boy shrugs.  “Close your eyes or something then, because I can’t get closer while they’re glowing like that.”  Sighing, Kanan rolls his eyes before closing them, and he hears the boy move closer before something presses against his lips.  He allows them to part, swallowing the water blindly. The boy removes the cup too soon, and Kanan waits to open his eyes until he hears the kid move several feet away.

Kanan’s eyes narrow in recognition as he studies the boy.  “Hey, you’re that kid—the one from the corner of Ninth and Park, with the cards, yeah?”  The boy freezes and nods, still shielding his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

“I work for Maul,” he answers tonelessly, shrugging.  He adjusts his grip on the mug, and without warning a sharp whistle comes from his direction.  He curses, no longer shielding his eyes as he shoves his free hand into his sweatshirt pocket. Kanan thinks he hears a muttered hiss of “ _quiet!_ ” to the pocket, but the boy’s attention is back on him in what seems like less than a second, his hand shielding his eyes again.

“So Maul’s the one who owns this place, yeah?”  When the kid doesn’t answer, Kanan tries another tactic.  “Why’re you in here? Maul send you with the water to be nice?”

“He wanted me to make sure you couldn’t glamour and that you were alive.  And that you didn’t get too dehydrated.” He lifts the mug and Kanan rolls his eyes again, flexing his hands against the zipties.  If Maul expects a favor owed after his ‘kindness,’ he’s got another thing coming.

“Can I ask _you_ a question now?”

“Go for it, kid.  Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

The boy swallows, still looking at the ground as he shades his eyes from the brilliance of Kanan’s own gaze and speaks.  “What happened to your wings?”

Kanan grimaces.  “ _That_ was a long time ago, kid.  And a better story for later.  Now go tell Maul if he wants to talk to me, he can come here _himself._  I don’t appreciate him sending a kid in here.”

The younger faerie flinches at that but nods, turning.  “I’ll let him know.” Kanan watches him leave without another word, the door shutting with an awful finality as the boy leaves him to his thoughts.


	5. scarlet to crimson & back again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced Animal Abuse

Ezra meticulously pushes the ripped tissue box into place, smiling to himself and rocking back on his heels as he looks over the finished structure.  It’s an amalgamation of cardboard and hot glue, standing only thanks to the supports he added last night— _ also _ made of cardboard.  He half wants to paint it, too, but that would require finding non-flammable paint.  A project for another day.

He turns to the wall, yanking the glue gun’s cord out of the outlet and setting it on the ground before turning to the nest of fabric nearby.  He picks it up carefully, trying not to upset any of the fabric strips as he lifts it up to the box the cardboard structure rests unsteadily on.  He lifts one of the boxes that isn’t glued to the rest of it and nudges the fabric bundle under before setting the box back in its place.

A soft whistling draws Ezra’s attention over his shoulder, and his smile widens as he catches sight of the sock on top of his blanket, slowly rising and falling with every whistle.  He moves to the sock, picking it up and supporting it with both hands as he turns back to the cardboard. A quiet chirping makes him glance down.

A small, serpentine head is poking out of the sock, a forked tongue flicking in and out.  Ezra rubs the top of the scarlet head with his thumb, smiling as the drake chirps contentedly again.

“How you doing, bud?”  The drake whistles shrilly, and Ezra winces.  “We gotta be quiet, remember?” It lowers its head apologetically and he smiles again.  “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay. I forget sometimes too.” He doesn’t forget to be quiet—he’d probably be killed if he did—but he  _ does _ forget that he has a reason to stay put now, this little creature to take care of, independent from Maul’s wishes.  The small dragon is  _ his, _ and his  _ alone. _   He doesn’t need to train him to fight, or to kill.  Not like the others.

This one can just be a dragon.

“Anyway, here, look what I made you.”  The fire drake slithers fully out of the sock, one of its folded wings getting caught on the fabric.  It squawks, wriggling until Ezra reaches down and moves the fabric off. The amphiptere shakes itself, squawking indignantly again before sliding up Ezra’s arm, coiling itself securely around him before it extends its neck to peer down into the cardboard structure.

“This is gonna be your house, look.  You can sleep here, and then there’s enough room for you to curl up in this one, too.”  Ezra points to different parts of the structure as he talks, explaining how the small dragon can move throughout it.  It cocks its head occasionally, rumbling deep in its throat with interest, and Ezra has to restrain himself from laughing.

Finally he finishes the tour of the miniature house and lowers his arm so the small creature can slide to the top of the box.  It coils itself before turning to face him, cocking its head. “Do you like it?” It crows in assent, trilling loud enough that he shoots an anxious glance at the door.  No one comes rushing in, however, so he allows himself to relax and turn back to the drake. It’s scales are flushing the deeper, darker crimson it’ll be once it’s older before lightening back to the scarlet it is for now.  His mouth opens in awe; he’s heard about the display of vibrant colors before, but never seen it. None of the fire drakes Maul’s bred before have ever done it.

The fact that he, that Ezra Ephraim Bridger, managed to do something that made this tiny creature happy enough to flare different colors makes him want to cry.

Instead, he simply offers the small amphiptere a wide grin, gaze tracing along the back of its head to the pair of folded wings.  They’ll remain folded until the drake’s big enough for them to be proportionate to the rest of it; another month at the very least.  Its frill, if it has one, will stay folded, too, for another few weeks. It won’t be until the dragon’s passed its first growth benchmark—gone several  _ weeks _ past it, with how small is is now—that Ezra will know for sure what gender it is.  Until then, the thin layer of scales covering the spot on its neck where its frill could be will stay put.

The dragon’s also far smaller than it should be, even at only three days old.  It’s the runt of the clutch by far—that’s the only reason Ezra’s even allowed to have it here in the first place.  If the creature had been born just a bit bigger, maybe it would still be with the others, squabbling over food and being raised as fearsome watchdogs for the rich.

With this one, Ezra can ensure that won’t happen.  He can make sure it won’t ever have to suffer punishments at the hand of someone like Maul, or worse.  He can protect it.

* * *

“Tell me again why the commissioner thought it’d be a good idea to put me on fae cases?”

He catches the glance Tano shoots him out of the corner of her eye.  It’s not full of malice, or hate; it’s not full of  _ anything, _ really.  But he understands her meaning well enough.

“Because of your ‘outstanding service’ on the human cases, that’s why.”  Tano keeps her gaze on the road, even as she continues. “And no one else was willing.”

Kallus sighs.

“Have you read over the case?”

“If you mean the two sentences on the back of a Chipotle receipt, then yes,” he says dryly, raising an eyebrow as a car cuts them off.  “Why are we in an unmarked car?”

“With fae cases, until you know what you’re dealing with, it’s safer to keep that anonymity.”

He nods slowly.  “Is that why all the fae teams have a human?”

Her eyes flick to his quickly before returning to the road once more.  “For lying? Yes.”

“Ah.”

They fall silent again.  Tano makes a few more turns, always turning her blinker on half a second before the GPS announces the turn.  As they turn into the apartment complex, he finds himself unable to withhold his question any longer.

“Did they switch me because I passed the MAGLE Index?”

She doesn’t look at Kallus as she makes another turn and pulls into a parking spot in front of the apartment building, putting the car in park.  “Maybe. I don’t know. This is the building.” Without another word, she turns the key and pulls it out, exiting the car as Kallus does likewise.

Tano leads the way up to the unit, giving three quick raps on the door before stepping back.  Kallus barely settles in to wait when the door opens, a woman in her 20s with dark skin and hair dyed a vibrant shade of green standing within the threshold.

“We’re Officers Tano and Kallus,” Tano announces, dropping her glamour for a moment to reveal blue- and white-striped wings to support her claim.  Kallus doesn’t even have time to blink before her glamour’s up again. “Are you Hera?”

“You can call me that, yes.  Come in.” Hera opens the door wider, beckoning.  Tano accepts the invitation and enters, Kallus trailing behind.  A deep, booming bark makes him jump, and he turns to see a large dog padding toward them.  The creature is entirely black, and built like a tank. Kallus decides to be thankful that it seems more curious than aggressive as it studies him.

“Grim?” Tano asks, looking at Hera as she closes the door behind them.  The younger woman shakes her head, braid flying.

“No.  He is fae, though.  You can call him Chopper.”

“And I can understand you, so watch what you say,” the dog adds, voice like rusty metal as he walks past the newcomers silently.  Hera follows him.

The group files into a small living room and Hera takes a spot on one of the couches, Chopper laying down by her feet.  Kallus follows Tano to the other couch.

“Are you here about Kanan?” Hera asks abruptly.

Tano nods.  “Yes. We just have a few questions.  Apparently, you were one of the last to speak to him.”

Hera nods.  “Ask away.”


	6. the iron room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child Abuse, Torture, Burning, Referenced Starvation

Kanan blinks as the door opens.  A kid, the same one from before, is holding it as a dark-haired, well-dressed man wearing sunglasses—likely to block out the brilliance of Kanan’s unglamoured eyes—walks through.  The kid scurries out of the way as soon as the man is through, allowing the door to shut. He stands to the side of it, head down as he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up.

“Are you aware why you are here, Kanan Jarrus?”

“Not really, but I feel like you’re about to tell me.”

The man flashes a cold smile.  “I think you’ll soon realize that I don’t appreciate sarcasm, Mr. Jarrus.  But yes, I suppose I shall...enlighten you, if you need it. You are here because you have been...misusing my name, my reputation, so to speak.  You are here to learn why that is _not_ a good idea.”

“And the kid?  Why’s the kid here?”

“The boy is none of your business,” Maul says; Kanan’s sure he’s Maul now, who else would he be?  “Right now, you should be worrying about _yourself._ ”  Maul turns halfway, gesturing to the boy.  The kid steps forward, handing Maul what looks like a metal rod.  Kanan sniffs tentatively, freezing.

“You– you don’t have to do this,” he begins, but Maul starts toward him.  He flinches away in the chair, stiffening, but the faerie keeps coming.

“Boy,” the man calls.  The teen walks forward again, grabbing Kanan’s shoulder and chin and pushing the latter up to expose his neck.  His wings stiffen, folding tightly against the chair as Maul pulls Kanan’s collar down slightly to expose the skin.

He presses the bar against Kanan’s collarbone.

He screams, jerking in the chair as the kid shifts his grip and moves slightly behind him.  Kanan thrashes, jerking enough in his restraints to break Maul’s grip. He throws his head back and hears a yelp before the grip on his shoulder and chin suddenly release.

“You kriffing _child!_ ”  As Kanan starts to calm down, his wings fading in and out of transparency, he catches sight of Maul approaching the boy.  The man raises a hand, drawing the shadows cast by Kanan and his chair and using them to push the boy to his feet. He stumbles as he stands, and Maul grabs his collar, yanking him up off his feet again with yet another assist from the shadows.  The boy curls into himself but doesn’t cry out in pain, only staying silent. “You can’t even hold down a half-starved man in _shackles._   You really _are_ useless.”  He throws the boy to the ground, flicking his other hand and directing the shadows to drag him to his feet again.

“Leave him alone!” Kanan barks.  Maul turns toward him, shadows and teen frozen.  The faerie lets loose a soft chuckle.

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said _leave him alone._ ”

“I don’t believe you’re in a position to be making such demands at the moment.”

Kanan opens his mouth to make another retort but Maul flicks his hand again, shadows suddenly smothering Kanan’s mouth and preventing him from speaking as he glares up at Maul.  His wings struggle against his other restraints, beating against the back of the folding chair fruitlessly.

“Boy,” Maul calls, “go finish what you were doing with the dragons.  We’ll address your incompetence once I’m done here.”

The kid nods hurriedly, ducking out of the room again as the shadows release him.  Maul takes another step closer to Kanan, picking up the iron rod again as the shadows dissipate.

“I have things to do, so let’s make this quick, yes?”

Kanan waits until the last possible second before jerking, right wing slamming forward to beat at the air around Maul.  The man chuckles, raising the iron bar and touching it to Kanan’s jaw. He screams and his wing recoils, pain shooting through everything until his vision darkens and all thought vanishes completely.

* * *

The small dragon teeters on his shoulder as Ezra moves among the fire drakes, pausing momentarily to refill their water dishes with the hose when he sees one that’s not mostly full.

The drakes hiss at him, the males flaring and rattling their frills when they see the hatchling on his shoulder.  On the other side of the kennel aisle, one of the females opens her mouth, flames licking at the open air as she watches Ezra’s dragon with narrowed eyes.  The hatchling squeaks in fright, ducking into Ezra’s sweatshirt hood again. The female huffs, letting the flames die off as she turns her attention to the newly-filled water dish in her pen.

He reaches the end of the drake pens and walks back, recoiling the hose as he does so.  Another one of the female amphipteres periscopes, wings shifting as she watches Ezra warily.  He reaches the spigot and turns it off, rehooking the now-coiled hose onto the hook placed above.  Pushing his hair back with a hand, he turns to the left and walks until he reaches a door, placing his palm on the keypad until it flashes green and the door unlocks with a click.  He pushes it open and enters, blinking in the dark until the lights click on automatically. He moves to the freezer and pulls out one of the bins next to it, opening the large appliance to see mice.

The dragon in his hoodie chirps excitedly, head periscoping rapidly.  Ezra lets out a chuckle.

He’s finished feeding the drakes and halfway through feeding the unicorns when Maul finally reappears, whipping off his sunglasses and letting his glamour fall to reveal his folded bat-like wings and tattooed skin.

“You aren’t done?” he asks incredulously, striding toward Ezra.  The younger faerie nearly drops his basket of holly berries, a nearby colt startling and stamping the ground angrily.

“I’m– I’m sorry, Master, I’m hurrying—“

“Clearly you _aren’t_ hurrying,” he snarls, throwing a hand out.  A shadow grasps Ezra’s arm, throwing him painfully to the ground.  He yelps, silently glad when he feels his own dragon quietly slithering into his sleeve so as not to be crushed by the blow.  The colt that spooked only moments before rears, whinnying sharply as Maul approaches. The faerie shoots a glance at the unicorn, and the colt instantly quiets, snorting softly as he shies away.

“I would’ve expected you to be done by now, and here you are, wasting time.”  He raises his hand, the shadows cast by the colt next to them rising to lift Ezra to his feet.  The boy remains silent but flinches away, ducking his head. “Tell me. Do you think we have the time for you to _dawdle?_ ”

“No, sir,” he whispers.  A slap makes his neck twist, and he can’t help a small whimper.

“I couldn’t hear you.”

“No, sir,” Ezra repeats, louder.

“Good.  I’m glad you understand.  Still, however, you need to be punished for your incompetence earlier.  Come with me, boy.” Ezra follows, shooting a glance back at the abandoned basket of berries.  “You can finish with those when you’ve recovered from your punishment,” Maul snaps. Nodding, he rushes to follow Maul.

The faerie leads him down several hallways.  He seems like he’s going faster than normal, and a lance of fear shoots through the teen’s heart at the sudden urgency.  However, when he realizes where they’re headed, his heart plummets. Still, he doesn’t comment, even when they stop in front of a solid iron door.  Maul enters the keycode, careful not to let Ezra see, and the door opens to allow them entry. Ezra enters before Maul has the chance to push him, standing obediently several feet inside and waiting until the door closes and locks with a thud and click before turning around.

It’s just one of the normal rooms, thankfully.  Not the kelpie one. He’s survived a week spent in an Iron Room before.  He’ll be fine this time, too.

Sighing, he shifts his weight, knowing better than to sit as he settles in to wait.


	7. a walk in the park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Burning, Child Abuse, Torture, Referenced Non-consensual Blood Magic, Referenced Child Abuse, Threat of Animal Abuse

Ezra’s half-falling asleep, on his feet, when he hears the soft chirrup.

He blinks, rubbing his eye with a hand.  Great, now he’s so sleep-deprived he’s _imagining_ things.

The noise comes again, soft and high, and he jumps.  He glances down to see something moving in his sleeve and, frowning, pulls at it.  A small, crimson head pokes out, the dragon trilling uncertainly.

Smiling, he reaches down to stroke the dragon, laughing softly when it purrs and pushes its head up against his hand.

He stands like that, stroking his dragon, for who knows how long.  When the door finally opens he jumps, the dragon letting out a startled whistle.  It slides up his sleeve once more as Maul enters, glaring at him.

“What was that noise?”

“Uh...I was just whistling, Master.  See?” Ezra whistles uncertainly, offering an uneasy smile.  The older faerie glares at him before jerking his head, gesturing for Ezra to follow as he leaves.

Ezra obeys in silence, following Maul down the hall.  He recognizes where Maul takes him this time, too, but still doesn’t comment, even when Maul stops at a door and unlocks it with the keypad nearby.  He pushes Ezra in by the shoulder, stilling only moments afterward. Ezra’s breath catches as he feels something clinging to his shoulder.

_His dragon._

“What is this?”

“What’s– what’s what?”

“Remove your sweatshirt.”

Swallowing, Ezra takes his hoodie off, silently glad the dragon stays inside.

“Give it to me.”

His blood runs cold, but he hands the hoodie over anyway.  Maul inspects the exterior before turning it inside out.

A frightened squeal makes his brows shoot up in surprise.

The dragon slithers up, hissing as it tries to slide up Maul’s arm.  The faerie snarls, grabbing it by the tail and holding it up to inspect it.  It wriggles, screeching as it tries to get out of his grip.

“What.  Is. This.”

“It’s– it’s the fire drake hatchling you gave me, sir, from the clutch that hatched a few days ago, the runt—“

“And _why_ is it in your _sleeve?_ ”

“It– it gets cold easily, sir, and lonely, and I didn’t want it—“

“It gets _lonely._ ”  The snark in the man’s voice makes Ezra duck his head quickly, swallowing hard.

“It’s– it’s not doing any harm, sir, I—“

“I didn’t say you could carry him _around_ with you.”  Maul’s gaze returns to the drake, watching the creature screech indignantly and squirm in his grip.  Finally he glances back at Ezra, gaze cold.

“I’ll be taking it.”

He gapes in silence before lunging, grabbing for the small dragon.  “No—“

A sharp slap sends him to the ground, and Ezra yelps and hurriedly removes his ungloved hand from the iron-plated floor.  It’s too late, however, the damage is done; his palm shows the blistered beginnings of a much more serious burn.

He shoots a glare up at Maul, lips pulling back into a snarl.

“That attitude will never get you your... _creature_ back,” the man says, raising an eyebrow.  Ezra holds his gaze for only a moment longer before he wavers and drops his eyes.  He can feel Maul’s smug grin from above.

“Just...just please don’t hurt it,” he begs in a whisper.

“Behave yourself, or _it_ won’t be what you should be worrying about,” the faerie says darkly.  He backs out of the room, glancing at the still-shrieking drake, before shutting the door.  Ezra hears the automatic lock click, soundproof walls blocking out the sounds of his dragon calling for him, and his heart sinks.

* * *

He’s not sure how long it’s been when the door finally opens and Saxon slides a tray in.

“Has he said when he’ll let me out?”

“Never, if you keep up that mouth of yours.”  Saxon enters fully, watching with narrowed eyes as Ezra crouches and picks up the iron tray with his gloved hand.  He rises again, balancing it carefully against his stomach and his hand. He picks the bread off the tray, careful not to touch the iron with his ungloved fingers.  He bites into it, swallowing the stale slice and trying to ignore Saxon’s gaze on him.

He’s halfway through the bread when Saxon reaches out, the half-fae nudging the tray and upsetting its delicate balance.  Ezra can’t help a quiet curse as he scrambles for it, hissing and pulling his bare hand back when it brushes the iron on its way down.  He crouches, biting his lip when he sees that the bread is several feet away from the now-upturned tray and the water now decorating the iron floor.

“Why’d you do that?” he asks Saxon, glaring up at him.  The man only shrugs and crosses his arms, a grin emerging.

“Felt like it.  Now pick it up, changeling.”

“You’re the one who did it.  You do it,” he says without thinking.  _Kriff._   His dragon must be rubbing off on him.

The thought of his dragon sends a pang through him, made even worse when Saxon grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls it from under his collar.  He yelps as the metal hits his skin, immediately scalding enough to make his eyes water.

“Would you like to try that again?” Saxon asks in a tone of voice that’s too polite for what he’s doing.  Ezra swallows, blinking back tears.

“I– I’ll get it,” he murmurs, throat burning.  Saxon holds him aloft a moment longer before tossing him to the floor, ignoring the resulting yelp as his ungloved palm hits the floor.

Ezra tugs his shirt back up under the collar, swallowing hoarsely and shaking as he stares at Saxon.  The man pays him no attention as he pulls on a pair of latex gloves and picks up the tray and cup, leaving Ezra alone with the fallen piece of bread.

* * *

Kanan stumbles out onto the street, head spinning.  At the sound of footsteps he turns to see the door closing, pulled shut by an unseen hand inside.

“No no no nonononono—!”

He staggers back to it, raising a hand to knock just as it shuts fully.  He groans in frustration, leaning his forehead against the door and sighing.

He’s not sure how long it’s been when he finally looks up, blinking.  It’s night out.

But definitely not the same night he was taken.

_How long have I…?_

Shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear it, he pushes off from the door and stumbles down the sidewalk.  He vaguely recognizes what part of town he’s in. It’s fairly close to the Complex. Which means he has quite the hike ahead of him.  Maul relinquishing neither his wallet nor his phone doesn’t help matters much either.

As he walks, his mind keeps returning to the boy and the blood oath.  Maul had used their forearms for the ritual, and oddly enough, had only forbade Kanan from mentioning one thing upon his return to the outside world.

Which brings him to the boy.

He’s still unsure of the kid’s name, only that Maul wants to ensure Kanan has nothing to do with him.  The blood oath had only referred to him as “The Changeling,” and Maul had murmured his real name too quietly for him to catch.

Still, however, the reason for the blood oath doesn’t seem apparent.  Why Kanan would ever feel the need to _mention_ the kid to anyone is beyond reasoning, of course.  Sure, the kid’s situation doesn’t seem to be good. Maul appears to be either exploiting or abusing the kid or both—or maybe the boy was simply particularly mouthy that day and Maul felt the need to interfere in front of a prisoner.  Kanan will never know.

Then again, Maul _had_ called him a changeling.  If that’s the case, Kanan wouldn’t be surprised by any treatment the boy received.  It’s not uncommon for changelings to be roughed up and reminded of their place, by both the humans whose child they replaced or by the faeries who birthed them.  Replacing someone’s child...it’s not good. Not that Kanan would ever treat anyone undeserving like that, but if the boy was a changeling returned to Maul, he wouldn’t be surprised if the man is simply furious about the fact that the faerie child _was_ returned.

And Anakin’s Law can only do so much for changelings.  Too many of them slip through the cracks for it to be effective.  Too many of them don’t come back up for it to be useful.

Kanan’s halfway down Park Street when he first hears the sound.

It’s musical, melodic, too perfect to be natural.

Which is why it takes him a while to realize that it’s _singing._

He turns off the sidewalk, walking onto the close-cut grass of the neighboring park.  It’s still pitch black, the stars barely visible behind clouds. The grass is wet, almost making him wish he’d stuck to the sidewalk.

But when he reaches the woman, that thought disappears.

She’s standing under a tree, singing nonsense words that still manage to sound pitch perfect as he approaches.  She doesn’t open her eyes when Kanan stops, several yards away, and clears his throat.

She _does_ stop singing, however, and addresses him.

“You come from Maul’s Court.”  It’s not a question.

“I...wait, wait, how’d you know….”

“I know many things,” she says, laughing softly.  “For example, I know you know of the boy. Now, why don’t you tell me about him?”


End file.
